


Christmas Future

by Darling_Pretty



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Steggy Secret Santa, Steggy baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 18:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17229383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darling_Pretty/pseuds/Darling_Pretty
Summary: Five Christmases that Peggy Carter spends in the future.Written for Steggy Secret Santa 2018.





	Christmas Future

The first Christmas that Peggy spends in the future, she’s stuck in the hospital, quarantined and about to go insane from boredom. Apparently when one traveled through time in a manner no one could quite explain, there were inoculations and observations that one needed to go through. This is all explained by a masked doctor through a glass window in the door. She marks the 25th with a small piece of gingerbread on her meal tray.

Her room is well-appointed—clean and full of slick, modern lines—but the amount of white only serves to makes her feel she’s about to go mental. Even if she theoretically understands what the point of keeping her quarantined is, she is terrible at sitting around with nothing to do. She spends too much time simply walking the length of the room in an attempt to keep her muscles from atrophying, but even exercise can’t keep her happy for long.

She’s lying down with her head hanging off the bed, for no other reason than the rush of blood makes her dizzy and she’s horrifically bored, when finally there’s a figure at the door. The doorknob clicks and Peggy flies up, wobbling a bit as the blood rushes back through her body.

She expects nothing but a white coat to walk through the door. Instead she gets a ghost.

Peggy blinks and her mouth hangs open. It can’t be. It’s impossible. It’s insane. She’s actually gone mad.

“Steve.”

She can barely get the word out. But he doesn’t seem to be able to get out the words either. Before she can breathe, he’s across the room, inches from her. It doesn’t feel real until she can feel the heat of his body coming off his body and then she wants to cry, her knees going week as she watches his chest rise and fall with his breath.

“How…?” she asks.

“You’re here,” he replies and his hand brushes her wrist.

Peggy stops., forcing herself to ignore the basest instinct to simply jump into his arms. She knows no one and she’s been locked in a room. It’s all very suspect.

“Who are you?”

Pain flashes in his eyes before it seems that he resigns himself. Part of her wants to smooth out the little wrinkle in his brow, but he could just be a wonderful actor. “Steve Rogers,” he says, looking her dead in the eye.

He’s taller than her, much taller given she’s barefoot. But somehow in the face of her distrust he seems smaller, shrinking down into the smaller man she remembers from all those years ago. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, a nervous habit.

“I woulda come sooner, Peggy, you gotta believe me. But I just found out.”

“Prove it,” she demands, though she doesn’t even know how he’d go about doing so.

The corners of his lips quirk up and Peggy’s heart races. “How about I spring you from this joint? I still owe you a dance.”

“That’s not enough.”

He freezes; she can watch the gears turn in his head, trying to prove to her that he is who he says he is. She’s given the man an almost impossible task; every one of their significant moments had at least one witness. Then he’s digging in his pocket, pulling out a small metal object and putting it in her hand.

Peggy’s hand shakes as she realizes just what the disc is; his compass. With clumsy fingers, Peggy pries open the rusted hinge to see her face pasted inside, faded and damaged by time and water, but unmistakably her.

Without speaking, he takes it back and tugs at the picture gingerly. It folds up and Peggy holds her breath, waiting for the paper to tear. Instead, he’s just careful enough to pull it away from the lid and reveal her name, written in her hand. Put there in a fit of sentimental fancy, she’d turned crimson when she’d discovered through a newsreel that Steve had clipped the small picture to fit his compass and put her photograph where he could carry her always.

To remind me of true North, he’d said when she’d demanded explanation.

The compass could be forged, but no one knew that she’d signed the photo.

Peggy’s knees go weak; Steve lurches forward and catches her elbow. Electricity surges through her and she’ mortified to realize that the sob she hears is her own.

“My darling…”

Steve’s face is radiant, though blue eyes twinkle with mischief. “You’re late,” he says

So many years ago… Peggy still knows the proper response.

“Couldn’t call my ride, if you’ll recall.”

He’s in her arms within the next moment, head bent to kiss her. It’s the best Christmas gift she’s ever received.

* * *

The second Christmas Peggy Carter spends in the future she wakes a little hungover and exhausted, unexpectedly curled up alone in bed.

Frowning and chilled, for want of her usual furnace-like bedmate, she stands and wraps a fluffy robe around herself, grateful sleep clothes are far more utilitarian than decorative these days.

Steve turns at the sound of the rubber soles of her slippers against the hardwood and his lips pout becomingly. “You’re supposed to still be asleep.”

“I got cold.”

He moves from the stove, pouring her coffee into her favorite mug—a faded blue one with the shield printed on it. She wraps her hands around the ceramic just in time for him to bend to kiss her.

Peggy grins against his lips. “Mm, good morning. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas,” he replies with a chuckle, sounding vaguely unnatural with the different turn of phrase.

“Christmas party at Tony’s tonight.”

It draws a groan from him. “Don’t remind me.”

. . .

The tower is decked out, festive in reds and golds that echo Iron Man’s color scheme. Peggy gives Tony a hard time before she’s swept away by Pepper and given a flute with a delicious champagne cocktail that she’s certain packs more of a punch than it tastes.

Peggy and Pepper sit on one of the absurdly and near inconveniently low couches, gossiping and trading stories about their day. Peggy toys with the small pendant with her family crest, a recreation of her old necklace lost to time and a gift from Steve. The only difference is the inscription on the back—Family first. Love, Steve.

Speaking of, she hasn’t seen Steve all night. He’d disappeared early, off with Tony and Clint somewhere in the depths of the party. She’s just tipsy enough and enjoying Pepper’s warm company to keep her from looking.

“Let me see that ring again,” Peggy demands, grabbing at Pepper’s hand. She and Tony have been engaged for several weeks now, but Peggy senses that Pepper is still getting used to it. The ring is large—privately, Peggy thinks it’s a bit much in size—but clean lines and minimal adornment make it seem right at home on her friend’s finger.

Pepper’s cheeks are flushed, though Peggy suspects that in part it’s because they’ve each had two cocktails already. Even Peggy, a notoriously stoic drinker, is feeling a bit bubbly. “Do you think Steve’s going to pop the question soon?” Pepper asks.

It’s not that Peggy’s never thought about it before, but it still surprises her. She purses her lips, stopping to think. “I’m not quite sure, actually,” she finally answers.

Pepper’s brow furrows—she’s definitely a little tipsy and it’s quite entertaining. “Why not?”

“Well, when one’s been in love with the same person for over seventy years…. It’s not that I wouldn’t want to, but—we’ve already been through so much, it doesn’t seem necessary exactly?”

“Would you want to?”

Again, Peggy has to think. Every sensible bone in her body wants to say no, because they’ve no need for a party and she knows marriage will change nothing about their situation. “I rather think I do,” she admits quietly. It would be nice to stand in front of their friends and promise forever.

“Rather think what?” Natasha drops onto the couch in a way that is too graceful to be fair.

“Peggy wants to get married,” Pepper teases.

Crimson brow arched, Natasha chuckles. “That’s a revelation?”

“Yes it is,” Peggy insists primly.

There’s something unknowable in Natasha’s eyes. While she’s probably got a jump on most people, Peggy still can’t get a perfect read on the other woman. She’s got no obvious tells, something near impossible. “Speaking of, have either of you seen Steve?”

Pepper, on the other hand, is full of tells, especially when she’s been drinking. Peggy doesn’t miss the way her friend’s eyes glance towards Natasha, who could be simply shifting her body weight but who could also be shaking her head almost imperceptibly.

“No.” Peggy would interrogate further, but there’s a commotion across the way as Thor arrives. Always one for a flashy entrance, that one.

The night progresses, becoming loud and raucous as the crowd thins out but the drinks keep flowing. Peggy keeps an eye out for Steve but between Natasha and Pepper, she’s kept quite busy.

At least until the underlying thump of bass from the music pauses, deafening in its sudden silence. Peggy looks up, catching Natasha’s eye. The other woman just smiles.

“Hey, Peg?”

Steve’s voice is low and from behind her; it’s a small wonder she can even hear him, but she does and turns. It takes her a moment to find him; he’s down on one knee.

When Fred had proposed, Peggy had agreed quickly; after all, it was simply inevitable and she was almost certain he’d never do it. But seeing Steve on the ground in front of her? She can’t speak around the sudden lump in her throat.

He says something and it must be good because even Tony looks moved, but she can hardly hear over the rush of blood in her ears.

“Yes,” she blurts out the moment he opens the small velvet box in his hand. She speaks over him, but it doesn’t matter; she’s on the ground next to him, kissing him deeply before he can so much as slide the ring on her finger.

* * *

The third Christmas Peggy spends in the future, Steve’s MIA, though not technically since his entire operation required radio silence. But he’d meant to be back three days ago and he’s unfailingly punctual when its in his control.

She doesn’t even decorate, doesn’t see much point. They’ve not unpacked the boxes yet. She doesn’t go to Stark’s party either. And yet on Christmas morning, Natasha and Clint are on her doorstep—the door sticks a little, a project Steve meant to take care of when they first bought the house—with bagels and coffee. Neither mentions Steve or Christmas and Peggy manages to remain distracted by their bickering, even if she can’t focus on the action film she’s meant to be watching.

She waits until everyone is gone and the lights are out to indulge in a gloriously prolonged cry.

* * *

Peggy’s fourth Christmas in the future stops feeling so much like the future. Steve is home, their house now cozy and decorated. She wakes with her husband wrapped around her, holding her tight though Peggy knows she’s not a peaceful sleeper.

She rolls over and sleeps for another hour, couched comfortably in his hold.

When she wakes again, her husband is still there, but awake now, drawing soft shapes on the slight swell of her belly with his fingers as he sings a lullaby Peggy can’t recognize. “Mm, I believe you promised me breakfast in bed,” Peggy mumbles.

Steve looks up with a goofy grin. He still seems just enamored, even now, two months after she’d taken the test. “I’ll get up and start in a minute. Me and Peanut were having a moment.”

Peggy’s heart flutters, though it’s a bit low for that. With a start, Peggy realizes that it’s not her heart, it’s the baby. She laughs and it draws Steve’s attention. “Peanut says hello,” she informs him.

“She’s kicking?” His face is bright and hopeful, boyish really; his hand covers the stretched skin, searching.

“You don’t know it’s a girl,” Peggy reminds him.

“Yet,” he insists. “We’ve got that appointment coming soon.”

Peggy pats his hand lovingly, long-sufferingly. “Yes, dear. You’re very right.”

He moves up and kisses her. “Can’t wait.”

* * *

The fifth Christmas that Peggy spends in the future is by far her favorite. She’s awake from midnight to two AM with a fussy infant and then gets about four hours of sleep by the time all of the gifts are wrapped and she and Steve have eaten the cookies left for Santa.

Their love life has taken a backseat; Steve’s hesitant to do anything without explicit medical permission, something Peggy has also mostly forbidden him from asking except for general assurance that intimacy comes with no danger to her. She Ike’s her OB/GYN but certainly not enough to be asking explicit questions.

But Steve makes her feel beautiful, no matter the moment and even though they have to stay quiet, she’s left happily sated and content, resting against his chest. Steve runs his fingers through her hair carefully, detangling as he goes, and Peggy falls into a deep sleep for ages.

When she wakes, Sadie is babbling loudly by her ear and tugging at her hair, though Steve pulls her back quickly. “That’s right, Sadie, that’s Mama,” he says with a grin.

“Mum,” Peggy grumbles, still half asleep and certainly not awake enough to deal with his teasing grin and obnoxiously American drawl.

“You’re in the good ol’ U S of A now darlin’,” he replies in what Peggy can only is an attempt at his best John Wayne impression.

“Sadie, I’m horrifically sorry, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to commit your father to the looney bin,” she teases before Steve catches her with a soft smile.

“Happy Christmas,” he says begrudgingly, knowing she’ll make a deal of it if he doesn’t. “We let you sleep in a bit. There’s breakfast on the table. And coffee.”

“Bless you.” Peggy had always liked the ritual of a cup of coffee in the morning, but serving as a consultant to a rebuilding SHIELD as well as a full time mum makes coffee more than a luxury.

They open gifts; Sadie likes the boxes more than her toys, but she does seem to enjoy tearing into the gift wrap with aplomb, so Peggy considers that a win.

Steve gets her a new holster for her gun and she gets him a new sketchbook. They’d agreed to spend most of the Christmas budget on their daughter and Peggy is annoyed when Steve pulls out another small box for her.

That quickly disappears when she sees the delicate locket with Sadie’s picture inside. “I love it!” she exclaims, kissing him soundly. “Steve, it’s perfect.”

As if to punctuate Peggy’s joy, Sadie claps and Steve swings her up into his arms. “That’s right, Peanut,” he says, tapping her nose to Sadie’s delight. They plop down besides Peggy and she tucks herself to Steve’s side.

“We really should start getting ready to go over to Stark’s. Show off Peanut’s new outfit.”

Peggy’s warm and comfortable. She makes a noise of assent, but burrows herself deeper into his hold. “In a moment. We’ll get ready in a moment.”

Their daughter cuddled between them, Steve curled around them, Peggy drifts off for another few minutes, at home and at peace. A happy Christmas indeed.


End file.
